For years my friend Maude has been saying that we should go to her little cabin in Maine. Somehow, although we talk about it every summer, we’ve never actually managed to set aside the time to make the trip. Leaving home means finding someone to water the garden, tidying up the desk, answering the emails, making sure that kids and husbands and dogs and all other commitments are covered. Easier to murmur, “someday, maybe,” and put the adventure off for another year.
I’m so glad that this time, when she asked, I just said yes. It’s a five-hour drive door to door, a journey from civilization into remote wildnerness – dirt roads, moose, rugged mountains, vast lakes. Maude warned me that we’d be roughing it — no plumbing, no phone service, no internet, no “amenities.” But nothing could have prepared me for what we got instead of an indoor toilet and wi-fi: the wild beauty, the stillness, the sensuous pleasure of a wood-fired sauna, skinny dipping under the stars, drinking hot tea in bed together late at night, sharing stories.
“Everybody needs beauty as well as bread,” naturalist John Muir wrote, “places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul.” I am just back from the woods, still assimilating the memories of this sacred, rugged place. But already, I find myself yearning to return. A taste of wilderness has whet my appetite for beauty as well as bread. Stripped down to bare essentials – food, fire, water, air – I experienced what it means to simply be a receiver. Open, unbounded, receptive to all kinds of knowing and seeing. Leaving conveniences and distractions behind, it is easy to rediscover what is of real value: our own vulnerable, wild souls and our membership in the vast web of life. The timeless dance of sunlight and shadow, earth and sky, water and mountain. The cries of loons, the gift of friendship, the pleasure of a hammock strung between trees, simple food, good conversation, a sound sleep in a bed at water’s edge.
Home again, I find myself cranky and out of sorts, feeling hemmed in, burdened by the “stuff” of my life. I wonder if I can find a way, even here in the midst of busyness, to stay in touch the silence inside? How disciplined would I have to be to reduce the distractions in my life, to begin to honor and protect my connection with my own hungry spirit?
What a wonderful gift to read this today. We leave for Maine tomorrow, and I cannot wait. I love the unburden-ness of my days there. Thank you for the remembrance as I now go through the stress of packing up 4 kids and our 80 pound dog for the trip. It will all be worth it.
When you find the way to keep, and access, that stillness within your life, please let me know…. the crankiness and overwhelm with the “stuff” of my life is an unfortunately frequent mood for me, and I wish I could figure a way around it. xoxo
In one of your posts you taught me: Breathe, Relax, Feel. Watch. Allow.
Thank you for this much needed reminder! (Do we ever learn these lessons for good??)
Kathy, I also want to thank you for the reminder of that post. I loved that post, Katrina. Thank you for all that you so lovingly share with us and the network that we can find here. I am so happy for you that you had such a beautiful experience with your good friend, Maude.
I am going through the exact same thing. I have these brilliant moments of peace and clarity where stillness is effortless. And then I am back to worrying and tidying and planning. The way you write about this made me catch my breath. It’s pure poetry. I want to book a cabin in Maine …
I think that finding stillness is the work of a lifetime. And it’s such a worthy occupation! Thank you for sharing this!
Beautiful picture! You’ve captured exactly why I live where I do – several kilometres out of a tiny town of 350 souls in the very heart of the Yukon Territory, Canada (next door to Alaska). I grew up in an environment where the wilderness existed, but it was hours away; I don’t think I could ever give up what I’ve found here.
You encourage us all to seek that feeling in the here and now of where we are; so simple and so quickly lost or overlooked. Perhaps a moment in the night garden is in order, as that’s what’s available at the moment…
The sentiment, the words, the picture…just lovely. thank you.
I live in a little piece of country in NE and it is heaven on earth. We retired on our small acreage a couple years ago and now experience the slower and simplier lifestyle that we created. It would still be possible to be stressed here but we have simplified so are not—I now believe it is a choice. Our life is filled with beautiful ordinary days.
The photo meant so much to me. Thank-you
So beautiful and true.
I’m glad you said “yes” this time.
Just back from northern Minnesota — Lake Superior, canoeing in the Boundary Waters, lakes lapping, folorn cry of loon…and reading this brings it all back again. Lovely, lovely.
the way you put life into words astounds me.